Wow, I didn't realize how long it'd been since I'd written anything here. I guess I just haven't felt like I could express the stuff spinning around in my head. There's plenty of it, personal and family drama and work and life decisions, but trying to sum it all up is an exhausting prospect.

I used to be cripplingly shy, and have absolutely terrible self-confidence. Like the non-existent kind. In the last few years I've gotten a lot better. Especially in the shy department. In fact, I love telling recent acquaintances that I used to be quiet and didn't talk. They're speechless!

And in the self-confidence department, I'm pretty damn good too. I don't think I'm capable of everything, but I don't think I'm incapable of everything. I think I've struck a pretty good balance between realism and optimism in terms of what I'm capable of.

There's one area, though, where I have absolutely zero confidence, and that's when it comes to men. There are a lot of reasons for it. My weight, for one: I know there are men who dig the fatties, but I think there are more who don't. Then there's my relationship history: totally dysfunctional. And my families' relationship histories: not a successful marriage on either side. There's my quirks: I have three cats, I don't want kids, I don't want to get married. There's my feelings on sex: not going to happen until a long time in to a relationship. There's my enjoyment of being alone: I love living alone, I love having space to myself, and I love not having to tell anyone where I'm going to be every minute of the day.

I'm sure that somewhere, maybe even close by, there's a man I'd be attracted to who likes fat girls, doesn't want marriage or crotchspawn, loves cats, is willing to be celibate, can respect my privacy, and is patient enough to deal with me working through my unhealthy relationship issues. But I wouldn't even know where to start to look for him. And I certainly don't know if the cute regular customer at work who inspired this post fits. Or how to flirt with him to try to find out. Or if I'm even really ready to try.

I've been really struggling lately. I'm sick of my job; I'm sick of never knowing how much I'll make, and having my ability to pay my rent depend on if the jackass at table 30 wants to tip tonight or not. But at the same time I feel so trapped. Because the thing is ..... I'm really not good at anything. At least not anything that makes money. It's pretty depressing. And it seems pointless to stop serving just to work at another job I'll be mediocre at and will probably hate as well.

There's a certain word that, any time I say it, everyone in my vicinity cringes and looks away as if I had just admitted I like to bathe in the blood of aborted babies. It really mystifies me, because it's a very simple word, and it's an entirely accurate descriptor for me. Fat. Fat. That's all. Just fat.

This has happened twice lately, both in conversations regarding jeans. I had to buy new jeans for work before Christmas, because my old ones ripped and my newer pair was really uncomfortable. I didn't want to shell out the cash for Lane Bryant jeans, so I tried Target, Kohl's, and Wal-Mart first. And that reminded me of what for the part six years I've gone straight to LB.

I was telling a good friend of mine this, and she suggested I go to Old Navy. "Can't," I said. "I'm too fat." She started, looking away, and started insisting I couldn't be too large to shop at Old Navy. I just laughed and told her their jeans in-store stop at size 20, which is four sizes too small for me. She continued looking very uncomfortable.

Yesterday, someone was talking about Kohl's and how "wonderful" it is. I mentioned that I tried to get jeans there before going to LB, and the bartender (who's about a size 14), asked me "Why do you shop at Lane Bryant?!" From her tone I'm guessing she went in once and was horrified by the prices, since she has cheaper options.

I kind of blinked at her. "Because I'm fat a girl."

She immediately stopped making eye contact and started making disagreeing sounds, clucking her tongue, pulling that "you're not fat" crap. I laughed. "It's true," I said, "these are size 24 jeans." Everyone around me continued looking horrified that I would say that about myself. They're seriously less horrified when I make jokes about bondage and sex toy sodomy.

And even though I know that society has added all sorts of connotations to the word "fat", peoples' reactions still amuse me. "You're not fat" -- really? What part of me isn't fat? My hair?

Not all of my holidays were back, but my dad's horrid girlfriend making me cry on Christmas was not a high point. Of course, I also finally told my dad I don't want to be around her, and he said he doesn't blame me and he understood. Which is a far cry from his statement a year ago that if I didn't want to see her, I wouldn't see him! So hopefully things will be better from now on.

My trip was incredible, for so many reasons. I met a lot of great people, saw a lot of great things -- not touristy things, generally, but just everyday things I loved -- and I saw my Norwegians four times, from the second or first rows. But now I'm home, and depressed. Sigh.

I got over the cold from my last post -- in record time for me, in fact! -- and then on my way to work I stopped at my dad's work. I was still angry with him, and I stormed out of his office and directly into a steel beam. My first concussion!